Suddenly I was on my feet, every sense alert, staring.  In the moonlight, made milky by the haze, he was indistinct.  And yet I could have taken oath that the square, diminutive figure, with the head set forward on the shoulders, was Gignoux’s.  If this man were not Gignoux, then the Lord had cast two in a strange mould.

And what was Gignoux doing in New Orleans?  As if in answer to the question two men emerged from the dark archway of the Governor’s house, passed the sentry, and stood for an instant on the edge of the shadow.  One wore a long Spanish cloak, and the other a uniform that I could not make out.  A word was spoken, and then my man was ambling across to meet them, and the three walked away up Toulouse Street.

I was in a fire of conjecture.  I did not dare to pass the sentry and follow them, so I made round as fast as I could by the Rue St. Pierre, which borders the Place d’Armes, and then crossed to Toulouse again by Chartres.  The three were nowhere to be seen.  I paused on the corner for thought, and at length came to a reluctant but prudent conclusion that I had best go back to my lodging and seek Monsieur early in the morning.

Madame Gravois was awaiting me.  Was Monsieur mad to remain out at night?  Had Monsieur not heard of the yellow fever?  Madame Gravois even had prepared some concoction which she poured out of a bottle, and which I took with the docility of a child.  Monsieur Vigo had called, and there was a note.  A note?  It was a small note.  I glanced stupidly at the seal, recognized the swan of the St. Gre crest, broke it, and read:—­

“Mr. Ritchie will confer a favor upon la Vicomtesse d’Ivry-le-Tour if he will come to Monsieur de St. Gre’s house at eight to-morrow morning.”

I bade the reluctant Madame Gravois good night, gained my room, threw off my clothes, and covered myself with the mosquito bar.  There was no question of sleep, for the events of the day and surmises for the morrow tortured me as I tossed in the heat.  Had the man been Gignoux?  If so, he was in league with Carondelet’s police.  I believed him fully capable of this.  And if he knew Nick’s whereabouts and St. Gre’s, they would both be behind the iron gateway of the calabozo in the morning.  Monsieur Vigo had pointed out to me that day the gloomy, heavy-walled prison in the rear of the Cabildo,—­ay, and he had spoken of its instruments of torture.

What could the Vicomtesse want?  Truly (I thought with remorse) she had been more industrious than I.

I fell at length into a fevered sleep, and awoke, athirst, with the light trickling through my lattices.  Contrary to Madame Gravois’s orders, I had opened the glass of my window.  Glancing at my watch,—­which I had bought in Philadelphia,—­I saw that the hands pointed to half after seven.  I had scarcely finished my toilet before there was a knock at the door, and Madame Gravois entered with a steaming cup of coffee in one hand and her bottle of medicine in the other.